


Homesick Alien

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: Starman (Alien AU) [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alien AU, Alien Juno Steel, Aliens, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Other, Psychic Abilities, Whump, essentially mantis powers for any guardians of the galaxy fans, it's hand holding but spicier, psychic link, this. this one hurt me. i love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: “Just keep breathing,” Juno reminded him. He had meant the words to be even, but then again, he had meant to keep his eye from going wide in terror and his hands from shaking too much when they trailed from his blaster to brush some of the strands of sweat-slick hair from Nureyev’s eyes.“Don’t touch me,” Nureyev hissed.“What the hell did I do?”“Your—” Nureyev paused to gesticulate faintly at Juno’s antennae, flat back on his head with stress and fear in equal measure. “Does it let you feel pain?”AKA remember that psychic link alien thing i wrote the other day? apparently it works very well for whump
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay & Juno Steel
Series: Starman (Alien AU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115288
Comments: 54
Kudos: 153
Collections: RECORDING IN PROGRESS





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey all!! this one's a bit heavy, so just make sure to heed the content warnings!!
> 
> Content warnings for gun (blaster) violence, major/potentially fatal injury, minor gore, burn mention, not really sure how to put this but one character spends the entire chapter entirely convinced another character is going to die so that's pretty not fun for that character

Juno Steel had always considered himself the kind of guy who could keep his head when under fire. He’d weathered his fair share of injuries on both sides of the blaster’s setting dial and still managed to drag himself out of the situation. He’d even managed to win the firefight on a few of those occasions. As much as he hated the sensation and having to deal with being partially incapacitated for a few weeks afterwards, a life threatening injury wasn’t exactly the end of the world.

That was the problem with working as part of a team. If there was a casualty, it wasn’t always him.

The last time Juno had seen someone take a kill blast to the chest, he decided he never wanted to see it happen again. However, the aim of that goon had been just a little bit better than the present one, so at least the poor son of a bitch had the luxury of dying quickly. 

He didn’t twitch or sputter or do his best to mutter out a handful of jolting last words into thick air that reeked of burning flesh. He didn’t have time to rest his head in Juno’s lap while he tried and failed to loose a few more shots around the corner of the wall they had taken cover behind. He certainly didn’t manage to gasp Juno’s name out as if trying to bless it one last time before he went.

“You’ve gotta breathe for me, honey,” Juno hissed between gritted teeth as he shot around the corner once more. He didn’t have time to check to see if the bolt had landed before a shaking hand grasped at the sleeve of his gown and tugged.

“Juno,” Nureyev wheezed. “My love, how bad is it?”

“You don’t wanna know and I don’t wanna look,” Juno shot back. “Buddy, Ransom’s down bad. We’re gonna need backup if you want the size of your crew to stay at six.”

“I’m sending in Vespa now,” Buddy returned.

“We got the creds,” Juno added, breaking off to fire again. “If that even matters.”

“We’ll debrief when you both are back safe,” Buddy replied, voice dry enough that Juno could tell she was fighting off something pained as well as she could. He doubted it was her intention, but something in his chest squirmed nonetheless at the first sign of a slip from a perpetually coolheaded Captain. “Buddy out.”

“Love,” Nureyev started again, though the word flailed and struggled against lungs already seizing with breaths so harsh and thin they seemed to be carving notches into the thrumming organ in Juno’s chest. “How bad is it?”

“You were shot, Nureyev,” Juno swallowed. “How bad does it need to be?”

“I would rather not jeopardize the mission over—” Nureyev broke off with a gasp when Juno shifted to fire again, jostling him slightly in the process.

“Just keep breathing,” Juno reminded him. He had meant the words to be even, but then again, he had meant to keep his eye from going wide in terror and his hands from shaking too much when they trailed from his blaster to brush some of the strands of sweat-slick hair from Nureyev’s eyes.

“Don’t touch me,” Nureyev hissed.

“What the hell did I do?”

“Your—” Nureyev paused to gesticulate faintly at Juno’s antennae, flat back on his head with stress and fear in equal measure. “Does it let you feel pain?”

“Yeah?”

“Then forgive me for not particularly wanting to share it,” Peter finished.

“Nureyev—” Juno started, the syllables punctuated by a jolt of electricity and a thunk as somewhere, a million miles away, the last goon went down. “I think you get an excuse.”

Nureyev opened his mouth to spit out any of the thousands of arguments Juno was well aware he used to justify exactly why his various sufferings should be quiet and out of the way and stuffed into a crumbling filing cabinet at the back of his mind. However, Juno was almost positive he would lose the argument against the smoking hole in his chest before he could get a single word out. When his attempted retort dragged into a groan, Juno swallowed, wishing he were right less often.

“Just breathe, baby,” Juno murmured.

“I’m trying, Juno,” he coughed. “Baby?”

“Sorry, it slipped,” Juno grimaced. “If you—”

“I like it,” Nureyev managed. “Might not have a chance to hear it again.”

“Don’t try to talk too much,” Juno swallowed before Nureyev could say something else to accidentally cleave his heart in two.

Thankfully, Nureyev forced himself quiet, wheezing through shuddering breath after shuddering breath until his chest had stopped shaking with the immediate aftereffects of the shot.

“Does it hurt to do that?”

Nureyev gritted out an expression that might have been a smile on a kinder day.

“Terribly, my love.”

“Can I touch you at all?” Juno asked after the smoke-stained moment stretched for just too long, too full of wheezing, shaking breaths and a poorly quelled trembling for him to bear it being nearly silent. “I can just fix your hair or something.”

Whatever resolve Nureyev had been clinging onto seemed to have slipped.

“I—”

“You don’t need to talk if it’s gonna hurt you.”

Nureyev took the deepest breath he could manage and nodded. Juno wrapped his sleeve around his hand before he could give Peter’s twitching fingers a squeeze, then moved his efforts up to the top of his head to run those gentle, scratching lines over his scalp that a year had turned into muscle memory.

“Any better?” He tried his best not to choke too much, for even the light brush of his fingertips over Nureyev’s scalp left him stifling a gasp at a mirrored pain, albeit hazier, like a cruel, white light softened only by a few layers of gauze.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Juno returned quickly.

Nureyev didn’t seem to have the energy to reply. Juno, despite himself, was grateful. Any time he tried to open his mouth to speak, the injury that left him limp and fading with his head in Juno’s lap would throb again, aching and burning all at once.

He supposed it was selfish to want to take Nureyev by the hand and squeeze, just to share the pain for as long as possible until he died comfortably. However, a little less contact meant he had enough resolve to try and slow his pulse and focus his thoughts on kind and gentle things. If he couldn’t entirely create a sense of calm, he could at least attempt to fabricate one.

“Hey, Nureyev?” He asked after a moment. His response was a hum that came out a bit more like a whimper. “Do you remember the time we were watching a stream together and you kept saying it wasn’t that sad, so to check, I held your hand and immediately started crying?”

Juno did his best to keep the memory alight in his chest, acutely aware of just how plainly any potent flash of emotion would translate through even the brief touches of his fingertips. Later, he would find it in himself to be impressed at the fortitude of forcing a near-laugh onto his lips, but at the time, he could only see his desperation.

To his merit, Nureyev cracked a smile. As far as Juno could tell, it was genuine.

“I do,” he remembered. “Your antennae drooped in a way I’d never seen before.”

“You have no room to make fun of me here,” Juno tried to chuckle. “They were up and normal and everything until you decided to make me start crying about shark lawyers in front of the whole goddamn crew.”

“I thought it was adorable.”

“I know,” Juno huffed.

“I love you too, dear.”

“But I mean, that was pretty nice, wasn’t it?”

Peter managed a nod.

“You revealed me to be quite the sentimentalist,” he tried to huff.

“You said you’d never forgive me,” Juno snorted.

“I meant it,” Nureyev somehow found it within him to joke.

“And do you remember that family meeting when I was buzzed off my ass on coffee and you were falling asleep so I had to keep an arm around you to balance it out?”

“Something like that,” he tried and failed to smile. “It was unpleasant, but I must say, I did not fall asleep.”

“And how about that time I was having a bad day so you came and hugged me for a while?” Juno started again, adding an extra hand to run a gentle line up and down Nureyev’s arm while the other continued to play with his hair. The pain was blunt enough to be bearable, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful for the wall behind him, for he was unsure if he would be able to sit up on his own. “You said something about not being able to fix it, I think. But maybe on the really shitty days, you could share a little bit of it for a while when the load got too heavy.”

“Juno—” Nureyev started.

“Keep breathing,” Juno said, as much a reminder for Nureyev as himself when he took him by the hand and squeezed.

Nureyev let out a breath, and somewhere beyond the throbbing just to the left of his sternum, Juno could almost find solace in knowing he might die comfortable.

Juno tried his best not to think about the sensation burning a hole in his chest, not to mention the aching twinge of preemptive grief somewhere behind it. It already took most of his fortitude to keep his grip tight around Nureyev’s hand, let alone to try and direct his thoughts towards pleasant, comfortable memories, as if the faraway reassurances of better times might do anything at all to soften a deadly blow.

He barely had time to regret his decision when spots began dancing in his eyes, black and blue as a festering bruise. However, somewhere between the emergence of the sensation and his head hitting the floor, he managed to swallow and almost ground himself.

The sensation might have very well been one of the worst pains he had weathered in his life. There was a bitter optimism to be found in knowing it would not last for long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHOHOHO HERE WE GO
> 
> Content warnings for temporary miscommunication, grief/mourning, food mention, injury

Peter Nureyev was the kind of man who prided himself on keeping his pain filed away. Any scar that hadn’t faded had been removed, as if burying the physical reminder of his past injuries would erase the fact that he had needed assistance with them at all. He let his pains be known only when they caused him enough distress that he could not cope with them quietly, and even then, he forced the majority of his vulnerability into a soft and gentle category. If he were to indulge a trip into his lover’s psychic link, it would almost always be under pleasant circumstances.

When he woke to a bone-deep ache and the faint haze of pain meds that were losing a battle against an injury somewhere along the line of his ribs, he found the one thing he could take comfort in was the fact that such an injury would likely undo far stronger men than he.

As much as he hated the vulnerability of it all, he could take a certain solace in the familiar scent of the Carte Blanche’s medbay. Vespa had a particular distaste for citrus cleaning supplies, meaning she had accidentally made the harsh metal walls a lot less impersonal and a lot easier to relax within. It was a strange thing to take comfort in, he supposed, but when his chest burned and throbbed and itched and his eyelids felt too heavy to open, he had to take his comfort where he could get it.

Somewhere behind the haze of pain medication and whatever dregs of chemical sleep had been pumped into his system, he wondered if he should just steel himself and try to show some sign of life. He was fairly sure he remembered hearing footsteps at some point or another. However, before he could even consider trying to find out which part of his unyielding body would be the easiest to move, a hushed conversation came into focus.

“Steel,” someone who was unmistakably the ship’s doctor sighed. “He’s not gonna wake up just because you keep looking at him.”

“Give me a goddamn break,” Juno groaned from somewhere nearby. “You expect me to what—go pour myself a bowl of cereal while he flatlines again?”

“I do, actually.”

Juno huffed.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that if that were Buddy, you’d be anywhere else on the ship right now.”

“I’m her doctor, moron. There’s a difference,” Vespa returned, far too gently for Nureyev’s liking. “When you have a medical degree, I’ll let you sit in that chair until you mummify. Until then, I think you’re forgetting who else’s doctor I am.”

“If you wanted me out of the way—”

“Yours, dumbass,” Vespa huffed. “You did enough damage to yourself with that hand holding trick of yours, and you’re not doing yourself any favors now.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“You haven’t slept in a day, idiot. You don’t need a medical career to know it’s not fine,” Vespa pressed.

“If that was Buddy—”

“It’s not,” Vespa broke him off. “Look, Steel, I get this is hard.”

“Do you?” He all but spat. “Do you really?”

“You’re not gonna drag me into a fight just because it makes you feel better to yell at something for twenty minutes and then go back to feeling sorry for yourself—”

“Hey—”

“Steel,” Vespa started, so quietly Nureyev felt his heart sink in his stomach. “He’s not gonna get better just ‘cause you’re trying to do something brave or sacrificial or whatever.”

Nureyev wanted, more than anything else, to drag himself into a sitting position, or, failing that, to let his head flop to the side just to show a sign of life. However, when the dull pulse of pain subsided for long enough to consider moving himself an inch, the heavy ache in his bones dragged him further into the mattress. Even if something in his chest was burning at the sound of the waver in Juno’s voice, the potency of the feeling could do nothing to lighten the dull gray of reality.

“I left once, and I almost missed—” Juno began. Nureyev felt his breath hitch at the sound of the waver in his voice. Thankfully, Vespa didn’t seem to want to hear it for a moment longer than she had to, and cut him off.

“You’re not gonna lose him just because you leave to get a glass of water,” she huffed.

“The last time I stepped a foot out of this room, his goddamn heart stopped. Do you really think I’m gonna risk leaving him again?” Juno shot back. When there was no response, he let out a sigh, forcing his tone a little lower. “Look, I know it doesn’t make any difference, but I just—I don’t want him to be alone when it happens.”

“Didn’t think you’d give up on him that fast.”

Juno didn’t seem to have a witty response.

“I’ll cut you a deal,” Vespa finally conceded. “I’ll let you have a few minutes alone to—I dunno—say whatever the hell you feel like you need to say in case things get bad again, and then you’ll go eat a meal or something. If something happens, you’re gonna be the first to know.”

Juno sighed.

“I—”

“Doctor’s orders,” Vespa added. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Juno didn’t reply, but between the trailing of footsteps and the sound of a chair dragging closer to his bedside, Nureyev could manage a mental image of what was happening. He wished, more than anything in the world, that he could drag his eyelids open or do anything more that force his aching chest to rise and fall, but it seemed Fate was not finished using him for an ashtray.

“Hey,” Juno started, voice a little weak, as if he were talking to someone who he didn’t want to wake. He didn’t continue for some time, but from the sound of shifting fabric, Nureyev could only assume he had paused to wince at the echo of the sound. “Are you feeling any better, baby?”

Nureyev tried to drag his lips apart, but they wouldn’t budge. He prayed the faint, occasional blips of the heart monitor nearby might pick up enough to display some sign of life, but the machine seemed to be as slow and dragging and exhausted as the rest of him and showed no sympathy for Juno Steel.

“You said you liked it when I called you that,” Juno laughed faintly, though it was hoarse and shaking. “I think you might’ve been joking, though. It didn’t really sound right. I’ve never been a pet names kind of guy. I don’t think now’s the time to start. Just because you’re dying or whatever—”

Juno broke himself out to swallow. Nureyev prayed the hitching of his breath might serve as the kind of sign he couldn’t seem to portray in any other manner, but again, it seemed futile. Even when Juno’s head came to fall upon his chest, it didn’t seem that any change in breathing or scrambling against his bone dry throat for words alerted him to Nureyev’s presence in the slightest.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Nureyev?” Juno murmured, as if Nureyev could do a thing to answer it. “I just—”

Juno broke himself off again to shake his head before finally laying his ear just above Nureyev’s sternum, as if feeling the pulse would make it more real than any heart monitor could ever convey.

“I’ve never been good at goodbyes. Hell, I guess you learned that the hard way,” he sighed. For his own sake, Nureyev did his best to pretend he couldn’t hear the waver tangling Juno’s vocal cords. “How can you make up for the rest of your life with someone in ten minutes?”

Juno didn’t wait for an answer.

“God, I miss you so much. You’ve gotta be okay,” he pressed on. “I’m gonna hold your hand for a little while if that’s alright with you. I just—there are a lot of things I wanna say, but I don’t know how much of a difference telling you I love you one last time is gonna make if there’s no way you can really know it.”

Nureyev tried to force his mouth open for a response, or perhaps just tilt his head into a nod, but no sign of life crossed his lips until Juno took him by the hand and squeezed.

Nureyev’s eyes shot open with a gasp, just in time to catch Juno’s antennae shooting upwards in what, below the hazy gray cloud in his chest, might have been surprise.

At the cold, aching sensation between his ribs, he was frankly shocked some organ or another hadn’t torn in half. However, he had barely begun to blink his eyes open and catch his breath from the cold shock of grief and pain and potent, bloodied affection before there were two hands on either side of his face and lips on his forehead and an exhausted sublimity gasping out from every point where skin met skin.

“Nureyev,” Juno sputtered.

“Love,” Nureyev swallowed, trying to force a weak throat around even weaker words. “Right here.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right here,” Juno managed to reply, cast like an angel in the white light of the medbay as he scrambled upright, beginning to fuss with every inch of the bedsheets or Nureyev’s tousled hair if just for something to do with his hands. “Do you need anything?”

Nureyev tried to lift an arm, managing only a weak gesture. When Juno raised an eyebrow, he sighed.

“Will you—” he tried to gesture again.

“I’m a bit of a mess right now,” Juno chuckled, seeming to understand Nureyev's request for an embrace. “Are you sure you really want skin on skin?”

“I just want you, my love,” Nureyev admitted.

Perhaps it was vulnerable to say such a thing, but he doubted it was any more vulnerable than missing the ache of someone else’s perception of the world right next to his own. Even if Nureyev had trouble keeping his pain-wearied eyes open for long, he caught sight of Juno’s relieved, albeit exhausted smile flickering across his face before he climbed over the edge of the mattress and stretched out at Nureyev’s side.

“How are you feeling?” Juno murmured into the top of his head as he got comfortable, letting Peter situate himself with his head on Juno’s chest and an arm wrapped around him.

“You know how I’m feeling.”

Juno rolled his eyes.

“Are you feeling better?” He clarified.

“Much,” Nureyev sighed. “I’ve been awake for some while, you know. Unfortunately, it seems you weren’t my Prince Charming in waking me up with your magic touch.”

“Why the hell did it take you that long then?”

“You were less of my Prince Charming and more of my Prince Bucket of Water Over the Head,” Nureyev chuckled faintly, the noise barely making it an inch past Juno’s sweatshirt.

Nureyev felt an echo of the muddle in Juno’s chest twinge with something sweet and aching in equal measure. In the same moment, Juno pressed another kiss to his forehead and took it as an excuse to hold him just a little tighter.

“You want me to get Vespa at some point?”

“Won’t she be back soon?” Nureyev all but lamented. “I’m so terribly injured and I need constant attention.”

“You always need constant attention,” Juno snorted, laughing in earnest when Nureyev swatted at the hand in his hair as if the affection had been a personal attack. However, when Juno ceased its motion, he reached for the hand and dragged it straight back to his scalp, earning another chuckle for his troubles.

“I thought you said you loved me,” Nureyev sighed.

“You’re such an idiot,” Juno smiled into the top of his head. “I missed you so goddamn much.”

“Enough to allow us a few more moments alone before the good doctor returns?”

Nureyev felt Juno’s grin bloom in his own chest before he could even glance up to catch a sight of it. There were a thousand reasons to be thankful he had lived, of course, but the promise of seeing that smile again had to be among the most important.

“You know what,” Juno started. “I think we’ve both had a hell of a week. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy this for a second.”

“It seems we’re in agreement, then,” Nureyev chuckled, letting out a deep breath once the sound faded away into comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of Juno’s hands rustling the fabric as they went about their business squeezing the hand of Peter’s that didn’t bear an IV and playing with his hair.

He could have spent the rest of his life in that position, feeling loved and feeling safe and most importantly, feeling better. However, with Juno clinging to him like a lifeline and whispering sweet, grief-tinged nothings into his hair, he made the staunch decision that the rest of his life would be better spent on other things. 

For now, however, he knew he could budget a few minutes to catch his breath. He would have the rest of his life to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEHAW! man they deserve this
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill make them Sad Again (that was a lie i have a cooldown period im not that horrible)
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!

**Author's Note:**

> oof. at least there's a chapter two right you guys
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill make them SADDER BAHAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


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